


Some Kind of Murder

by MittenCrab



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Blackwatch Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makeup Sex, Porn with Feelings, Retribution (Overwatch)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenCrab/pseuds/MittenCrab
Summary: So now, he sits in Gabriel’s room, in Gabriel’s desk chair, smoking one of Gabriel’s cigarettes - some horrible kind of irony.[Jesse isn't happy with Gabriel's decisions in Venice. He lets him know.]





	Some Kind of Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Darkforetold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold) for beta'ing this for me! You're an angel and I'm so grateful for your attention to detail.

 

 **How much can you change**  
**and get away with it, before you turn into someone**  
**else, before it’s some kind of murder?**

\- Richard Siken, 'Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light'  


* * *

 

When Gabriel finally gets back from the interrogation, he’s waiting for him.

 

It takes three hours.

 

Jesse spends half of that time sitting on the wrong side of one-way glass. He’s a spectator to his life falling away from him, observing it through screens and news reports and the way Jack Morrison paces the interrogation room frantically, like he’s searching for some doorway, some last air vent or escape route that will let them all get out of this thing. The real sting is that Jesse can’t do a damn thing about any of it. He just watches. Watches Gabriel through glass, watches the headlines begin to flow in on his tablet, and wonders whether any of this was worth it, really, in the end.

 

Finally, he gets tired of watching. Adrenaline itches in his veins and tells him to move, guides him on the familiar route back to the officer’s quarters. He walks on autopilot, barely aware of himself until he’s standing outside Reyes’ door, and stabs in the keycode vindictively as though that will somehow stop his mouth from tasting like salt. The room is dark, and he leaves it that way. His gear feels too hot and too tight on his skin, so he strips out of it but finds that he can’t be bothered to put it away. He leaves it in a pile on the bathroom floor instead and forces himself to stand under the scalding shower spray until his skin feels raw from the heat. Angela has long since stitched him up, made him sit under the steady, reassuring hum of the biotic field. But something still stings under his sternum like iodine on a wound. He watches, outside of himself, as the water runs pink with crusted blood and dirt and ash. He tips his head back and for a moment, lets himself imagine that he’s drowning.

 

Since they landed back in Zürich, he’s felt hungover somehow, faintly nauseous in a way that seems as though it’s sunk right into his bones. When he finally pulls himself out of the shower, he tries to turn on the HoloTV or to go through paperwork but he can’t settle. Something is stirring, jittery and vivid in his stomach, and no matter how much he wants to go to bed and forget about the whole damn thing, he can’t. Instead, he keeps turning the mission over and over in his head as though maybe if he tries hard enough, any of this will eventually make sense.

 

It doesn’t help. All he can think about is Gabriel.

 

So now, he sits in Gabriel’s room, in Gabriel’s desk chair, smoking one of Gabriel’s cigarettes - some horrible kind of irony. He plays with the things he could say, but he keeps drawing blanks. There’s only so many ways to say _I trusted you_ , to say _I don’t know who you are anymore_.

 

It startles him when the door security finally beeps to let him know he’s got company. Jesse breathes deeply. Hears the chime of the door clearing Gabriel’s ID before the door slides open. And then he’s there, in front of him, and Jesse suddenly doesn’t know how to make his mouth stop tasting like bile.

 

There’s a moment when the light from the corridor streams behind him, casts his shadow all the way across the room. Jesse has only seen Gabriel on the other side of interrogation glass since the second their transport touched down. Now, as soon as he steps through the door, Jesse finally gets to see him as he is: bruised and tired and smaller, somehow.

 

Gabriel looks sick, Jesse realises. Has since Rome, but in here, in the space that’s supposed to let them leave Blackwatch at the door, he looks worse. Not just tired, but _ill_ \- pallid and vaguely feverish like he looks when he’s coming round from a seizure. When he turns to look at Jesse, the half-light seems to make all of the lines across his face deeper, like they’ve been scoured in. When he blinks, owlishly, there’s a fraction of a second when it seems like he’s considering just keeping his eyes closed for good.

 

It should evoke pity, really. The sight of the man he loves, reduced to this. Instead it just makes the anger vibrate hotter under his sternum.

 

Gabriel doesn’t say anything. Jesse thinks the silence is the worst thing of all.

 

The door slides shut.

 

Jesse opens his mouth.

 

“I’ve just gotta ask,” he says, easily, as though there’s somehow an answer, “what the goddamn _hell_ were you thinking?”

 

Gabriel stares at him, like he’s weighing him up, like he’s considering whether this is a fight he wants to step into. Like he did all those years ago, except now, Jesse isn’t the one with his life resting on an Overwatch signature. Except now, he’s the one sitting on the other side of the interrogation room glass.

 

Finally, Gabriel says, “we’re not doing this.” Turns away and starts unbuckling the gear he’s still strapped into, as though that’s the end of it. Now that he’s closer, Jesse can see the dried crusts of blood still caked under his jaw, spattered across his chestplate.

 

“Like hell!” Jesse grits his teeth, pushes himself up straighter in the chair. The leather protests under him. “What the fuck did-”

 

“I said we’re not doing this,” Gabriel says slowly, before he can finish. He doesn’t look at Jesse.

 

“Oh, I heard you the first damn time,” he says.

 

There’s silence - long, and awkward. Gabriel inhales deeply, rubs at the bridge of his nose like he does when he has a headache coming on. Jesse’s seen it a hundred times. Knows, deep down, that it’s his cue to stop. That it’s a chance to stand down, to stop worrying at the stitches holding them together, because he doesn’t want this blood on his hands, doesn’t want to start this thing. Not really.

 

But he needs to, so badly that he can hardly stand it. He needs to start this because it’s been simmering inside him like a fever ever since Gabriel decided to pull the trigger. Maybe it’s the way that his blood still feels too hot in his veins, riled up and adrenaline heavy. Maybe it’s the way his ears are ringing from taking so much fire and the fact he has fifteen new stitches in his right arm.

 

Maybe it’s needing some way to pull that trigger himself, to be more than a spectator to his own destruction.

 

He doesn’t back down.

 

“You gonna tell me or what?” Jesse asks, knows he’s picking at a scab that’s going to leave both their hands bloody, that’s going to fill everything they have with salt and bile.

 

“If you have something to say, take it to the Strike Commander.” He still isn’t looking at Jesse, is making a scene of unstrapping his body armour as purposefully and meticulously as possible. For some reason, that makes him even angrier, fans the heat coiling in his gut.

 

“Last I checked, I report to you.” Jesse takes a long drag of his cigarette, lets the taste of earth and nicotine sit heavy on his tongue. “Or did you manage to fuck that up too?”

 

Gabriel’s shoulders go tense. It isn’t much, but it’s enough for Jesse to know that he’s toeing the line. _Good_ , he thinks vindictively, made spiteful by it all. He watches Gabriel fumble for the words.

 

“I’ve spent the last three hours talking about this shit,” Gabriel says, voice low and measured as he finally unbuckles his chestplate and puts it down. Methodical as always. His movements are slow, languid, as if they have all the time in the world, as if their death warrants aren’t already being printed in newspaper offices around the globe. “I’m done, Jesse. If you want to talk, go to Jack.”

 

“Huh,” Jesse leaves his cigarette to burn out in the ashtray on the desk, “see, funny thing is, Jack wasn’t the one who decided to flex his goddamn trigger finger and fuck up _everything_ we work for.”

 

Gabriel says nothing. He flexes his hands, curls and uncurls them into fists a couple of times like he does when they’re getting ready to spar. After all, that’s what this is, really, isn’t it? Gearing up for a fight. The air feels heavy, electric, like thunder waiting to break. Jesse knows he should stop, knows he can drop this now and walk away, sleep it off, but he can’t stop any more than he could stop the bullet that sent Antonio flying out of the window to bleed out in the canal.  

 

“We did what we had to.” Gabriel says eventually, “That’s what Blackwatch _does_ , Jesse, it’s what we’ve always done, and you’ve never had a problem with it before. If it’s not your speed, you can leave whenever you want.”

 

“Oh, that’s fucking funny,” Jesse snaps, “you think I can _leave_? You think I have a choice? You think I’ve got shit outside of Blackwatch?”

 

Gabriel is silent. _Come on_ , Jesse thinks, and presses harder. _Come on_. He twists the knife a little deeper.

 

“Y’know,” he says, leaning back, “if you really wanted to see me rot in a fucking prison, you should have just done it years ago instead of wasting everyone’s goddamn time.” Gabriel freezes, visibly. “But I guess you get off on telling yourself that you give a shit, _commander_.”

 

It’s below the belt and Jesse knows it, tastes blood on his tongue. He knows Gabriel _hates_ that word when it comes from Jesse’s lips, hates everything it represents about the years they have between them. Gabriel turns a little, and Jesse sees his eyebrows furrow as he says:

 

“Jesse, that’s not-”

 

“Fair?” Jesse laughs, hollow, and it feels like smoke in his lungs. “Well, you taught me, Reyes, so I guess I have you to thank for that.”

 

He sees it almost instantly. Gabriel flinches as though he’s been slapped, and there it is, the spark hitting gasoline. He’s taken the bait. Can no longer stand and wait whilst Jesse rubs salt deep and hard into the wound. He throws down the harness he’s been busy taking off and turns, rounds on Jesse like a predator.

 

“You think I wanted this?” Gabriel snaps, “you really think I wanted _any_ of this?”

 

“It sure as hell ain’t what _I_ wanted, but you didn’t exactly ask me before you went and pulled that goddamn trigger.”

 

“I didn’t have a choice-”

 

“Bullshit,” Jesse grunts, pushes himself to his feet. The chair squeals behind him, but he barely notices it. He feels murderous, ready to rip himself apart, and he can barely stand it. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

 

“I made a decision, and I stand by it.”

 

“Your decision means we’re going to lose _everything_!” Jesse snaps. They’re in each other’s space now, too close, not enough air. “We had a plan, and no part of it involved having the UN up our asses because you couldn’t hold your temper. Did you even stop to fucking think about what that means for the rest of us?”

 

“What it means is that we stood our ground,” Gabriel yells, and it sounds so meaningless. The room is too small, too close. “We sent a signal so that Talon, and whoever the fuck they have hiding in our ranks right now, knows we protect our own.”

 

“We could have done that without-”

 

Gabriel, bastard that he is, actually laughs. Jesse has always loved Gabriel’s laugh, but this is misplaced, wrong. It raises something nasty and visceral in him, and for a single horrible, blinding moment he almost wants to hit Gabriel, wants him to really _feel_ it.

 

 _Who are you?_ , he thinks, and isn’t sure who that question is really for.

 

“Without what? Drawing attention? Making a scene?” Gabriel scoffs, “you really need me to lay this out for you?”

 

“Sure does seem so, _commander._ ”

 

Gabriel tries to turn away from him, furious, but Jesse is too far gone to back down. He grits his teeth, stares Gabriel in the eyes as he straightens up and deliberately puts himself into Gabriel’s space. He crowds into him until they’re almost at each other’s throats, “enlighten me.”

 

“He knew we were coming.”

 

“Big fucking deal-”

 

“He knew we were coming,” Gabriel says again, louder, shuts Jesse down. He’s gesturing with his hands, manic, sharp little movements in the dark, like he’s fighting something that isn’t there. Combined with the almost feverish glassiness in his eyes, it does nothing at all to ease Jesse’s gnawing sense that Gabriel is _unwell_. “Which means they knew we’d play dirty, which means-”

 

“You’re being paranoid,” Jesse says, “It’s not-”

 

“Would you just-” Gabriel hisses through his teeth, breathless and excited, “just shut the fuck up and listen to me? They’ve got someone on the inside. They know. Blackwatch is compromised-”

 

“Are you out of your goddamn _mind_?”

 

“You know what,” Gabriel snaps, throws his hands in the air, “Fine. I fucked up. Is that what you want me to say? Is that what you’re waiting for? Because I’m done with this conversation.”

 

“Maybe I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t just destroy everything we’ve built because you’re being a paranoid sonuvabitch.” Jesse clenches his fists. “Look at me-” he reaches out, grabs Gabriel’s shoulder, shakes him hard, “-fucking _look at me_.” Gabriel does, then, and when the light catches the brown of his eyes, they’re cold. “Tell me you didn’t do this for _nothing_.”

 

There is silence, only for a moment, but Jesse is riled beyond redemption, and it’s enough. He laughs joylessly as he says, “Yeah, thought as much.”

 

Gabriel grunts like he’s been hit. Jesse almost expects him to stagger, almost wants him to. Thinks it would be more merciful that way, that it would give them a way out of this fire he’s started. But Gabriel doesn’t falter. Always has been a stubborn bastard.

 

“I did this to protect us!”

 

“Well,l congratulations,” Jesse says, and just for a second he feels the pain of it deep in his chest, the sharp, bright _ache_ that it’s all come down to this, to tearing each other to pieces, “real good job you did there.”

 

“As if you didn’t want to put a bullet in his skull in the first place-”

 

“You know, maybe I should have. Shot him and got it done with before you decided to make yourself some kind of fucking martyr!” Jesse swallows, and it stings as he says, “guess we all have a few fucking regrets about this shit.”

 

And that’s what it comes down to, after all. Regret. That he would give anything to have been the one to pull the trigger, to have been the one under the spotlight, to have at least kept Gabriel safe from all of this. He bites his tongue so hard that his mouth fills with the taste of dirty metal.

 

“Have you already forgotten how many people we buried?” Gabriel’s voice is dark, “how many people I had to put in the goddamn _ground_?”

 

“You being crucified for it ain’t going to solve _shit_. This isn’t about you, Reyes, don’t you dare make their deaths part of whatever this is, because this shit ain’t business, this is personal, and we can’t fucking _afford_ to be personal when-”

 

“And what if it was _you_?” Gabriel finally shouts, furious and desperate, “What the fuck was I supposed to do if it was you?”

 

The room stills abruptly. Jesse is aware of the sound of the aircon whirring softly in the corner, of the ragged sounds of their own breathing.

 

“What?” Jesse says helplessly.

 

“This shit is as goddamn personal as it _gets_.” Gabriel snaps, smacks his fist into the wall hard, as though he’s tapping out of this fight. “Fuck!” He yells, and then all there is is silence. He doesn’t meet Jesse’s eyes. Just stares into the carpet, breathing hard, his jaw working as if he’s trying to find enough air in the room.

 

Jesse doesn’t quite know how it happens, only that what little space there still is between them is there one minute and gone the next, that he has his fingers fisted into Gabriel’s undershirt and the smell of old gunpowder and iron in his nose. Gabriel’s fingers are gripping so tightly in his hair that it hurts, but he doesn’t complain.

 

“I don’t-” Gabriel exhales, chest still heaving frantically, and for the first time Jesse realises that the burning sensation in his hindbrain has been _fear_ all along, “-I _can’t_ -”

 

“Fuck you,” Jesse says into Gabriel’s neck, but the venom is cooling fast in his veins and suddenly he’s tired. His eyes are damp and full of splinters. He brings his hand up to the back of Gabriel’s skull, holds him closer. “Fuck you,” he says again, swallows so hard that it feels like the words are gravel in his throat.

 

All at once, Jesse finds that there aren’t any more words to say. He’s _tired_ right down to his bones, and no matter how much he knows he should push Gabriel away, he can’t. They stay like that for some time. Jesse sinks into it, breathes in the scent of sweat and metal and _Gabriel_ and use it as an anchor. The frantic, animal thing in his chest is starting to quiet, to lie still. It’s a truce borne of exhaustion more than resolution, but he’s willing to take it.

 

Finally, he pulls back a little, takes a good look at the state Gabriel is in. When he runs his hand a little higher, Gabriel’s hair is matted and sticky with blood. Jesse grimaces, gently turns Gabriel’s head with his hands to get a better look. Gabriel doesn’t fight it. He goes easily. Lets Jesse touch his fingertips to the edge of the wound, see how deep it goes. It’s superficial, looks worse than it is, but it’s still enough to make acid rise in Jesse’s throat.

 

“When did you last sleep?” Jesse says, fingers mapping out a vivid, purpling bruise that’s spread out over Gabriel’s cheekbone. This close, he can see the dark circles under Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel just huffs through his nose, winces. “Rome?”

 

Gabriel only half shrugs. Still won’t quite meet Jesse’s eyes.

 

“You’re a stubborn piece of shit, you know that?” Jesse says, but there’s no bite in it. He leans in, presses their foreheads together.

 

“I could say the same for you.” Gabriel stares straight into his eyes. Careful, searching, as though he’s checking for a concussion, for some wild dilation of his pupils or hemorrhage in his eye.

 

Jesse doesn’t give him a chance to find whatever it is.

 

When he kisses Gabriel, he tastes like nicotine and home. Jesse sighs, leans his weight into Gabriel’s chest. Feels the solidity of him under his hands and starts to remember how to breathe. _He’s alive_ , his brain supplies, _he’s alive_. There’s an ache in his chest so bright that it feels like it might split him open.

 

“You’re a goddamn mess,” Jesse says eventually, “let me clean you up.”

 

In the shower, he washes blood out of the cropped fuzz of Gabriel’s hair like an absolution, _forgive us our sins_. Jesse presses his lips to the crease between Gabriel’s eyebrows, feels the warmth of him underneath his hands, tries to remind himself how to be alive. Scabbed blood catches in the drain, refuses to wash away.

 

It takes long minutes of silence until the water starts to run clear, and when it finally does, he sets to washing the mission off Gabriel’s skin. As if it were ever that easy. As if he can just clean this all away with some soap and good intentions. For tonight, he’ll let himself believe it.

 

“Y’know, for all of your overthinking shit,” Jesse says, blinks shower water out of his eyes, “you’re pretty damn dense sometimes.”

 

Gabriel grunts, mutters something too quietly for Jesse to hear.

 

Jesse ignores it. Takes stock of the vivid bruises spanning the entire right side of Gabriel’s rib cage instead. In the bright bathroom light, they look blotchy against his skin, some impressionist memento of everything that went wrong in Venice. It makes Jesse nauseous just to look at it. _Reyes has had worse_ , he tells himself. Because that’s all this life has given them as a consolation: _it could be worse. He could be dead, you could be burying the man you love._ He shakes the feeling, presses lightly against Gabriel’s side, probing with his fingertips for the tell-tale edges of broken ribs. Gabriel breathes in sharply between his teeth, clenches his fingers where they’re resting on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse bites his tongue. He goes slowly, testing each rib, and Gabriel seems to humour him, holding still as Jesse checks the damage, wincing a little whenever he pushes too hard.

 

Jesse almost wants Gabriel to say something. Anything. He doesn’t.

 

“Doesn’t feel broken,” Jesse says finally, once he’s satisfied, “but-”

 

“SEP,” Gabriel says, before Jesse can say what he means to, and something in his voice is almost bitter, “it’s fine.”

 

And more than anything, Jesse is too tired for another argument. Gabriel is breathing fine and even the thought of dragging him down to medical is just too much. So he lets it go, lets his reservations follow the water as it spins down the shower drain.

 

“Okay,” he says, exhales hard. Exhaustion hits him all at once, like a kick to the chest. He feels for Gabriel’s hand with his own, clumsily tangles their fingers together. Squeezes, just once, “Okay.”

 

“Hey,” Gabriel says, drags their now tangled hands to rest over his own heart. Jesse can feel the warm, steady beat of it against his skin. “We’re here. We’re alive. We’ll get through this.”

 

Jesse isn’t sure who it’s meant to reassure. So he just nods. Presses his face into the crook of Gabriel’s shoulder and breathes. The shower water is warm, but he feels shivery and sick and he needs Gabriel, needs him so badly that he can barely breathe. There’s still adrenaline ghosting in his spine. Some jumped up remnant that stirs at the contact, at the feeling of someone else’s body pressed up against his. He trails his fingers down Gabriel’s chest.

 

“Would’ve shot him for you, you know,” Jesse says, finally. Quiet. Gabriel tenses minutely, “y’only had to ask.”

 

Gabriel sighs, then, long and tired, like he suddenly feels every one of the years he has on Jesse. His hold on Jesse tightens, pulls him in so he’s wrapped up in his arms. He reaches up, rubs circles into the very top of Jesse’s back with the palm of his hand. Presses a kiss to the top of his head. Jesse shivers involuntarily.

 

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

 

There isn’t anything more to say.

 

When he kisses Gabriel this time, Jesse imagines he tastes blood. Frantically kisses him over and over again until he starts to forget. He presses himself against him until Gabriel’s back hits the shower wall. Groans in satisfaction at the feeling of wet skin against his own. Gabriel grunts, chokes on a word that sounds like _fuck_ , and then his hands are grabbing at Jesse’s hips, tugging him closer. Jesse moans in contentment. Gabriel’s mouth feels like forgiveness and he loses himself in it. His body is still tense with adrenaline, electric and desperate for relief, and Gabriel’s body feels so _right_. Gabriel’s chest is heaving next to his and it makes heat rush between his thighs.

 

They towel each other off hurriedly, find their way back to the bed. Almost immediately, Gabriel’s hands are all over him. He kisses Jesse furiously, all firework sparks and freshly lit matches and summer evenings. It makes Jesse’s mind run blank, and he almost thinks he could lose himself to it, almost _wants_ to lose himself to it. He can’t. It’s not what he needs.

 

So he presses Gabriel down into the mattress. Straddles his lap to keep him there. Gabriel goes easily, no resistance, but Jesse pins his wrists all the same. Even with all the muscle Jesse has gained over the years, Gabriel has enough strength to flip him over in a heartbeat. But he stays down. Doesn’t struggle, even when Jesse leans his weight into him. Somehow he seems to understand Jesse’s unspoken need to be in control. The way that Gabriel looks up at him, eyes wide and hungry in the half-dark, makes heat coil low in his belly. Jesse bends, kisses him long and deep.

 

He grinds his hips, feels Gabriel’s dick pressed up against his. Gasps a little, unbidden, at the sensation. There’s a feeling deep in his chest like whiskey and desert sunsets, warm and cool all at once. Gabriel’s skin is still damp from the shower. Jesse wants it under his tongue, wants to lick and suck every inch of him. Wants to bring Gabriel back to him in increments, piece by piece until they can both feel whole again.

 

When he bends to mouth at Gabriel’s chest, he tastes soap and salt and clean skin. Gabriel inhales loudly, moves his hips just enough to grind their dicks together. Jesse rolls into it, eases his body alongside Gabriel’s until they’ve found a lazy, comfortable rhythm. He kisses at Gabriel’s chest, his neck, over the scars that are places, not names like his own. Beirut, Detroit, Seville - he finds them all, pays his respects like a worshipper until Gabriel’s breath is gasping in his throat and his hands are clenching and unclenching under Jesse’s grip.

 

“You’re everything to me,” Gabriel is saying, mouth hot and wet against the shell of Jesse’s ear.

 

“Fuck,” Jesse mutters, rolling his hips. Shivers involuntarily, right down his spine. He’s already hard, worked up with adrenaline and the sight of Gabriel underneath him. When he grinds against Gabriel’s dick he finds he’s hard, too, and that sends sparks to the base of his brain. His mouth is dry with a feverish, urgent need for _more_.

 

When Jesse finally relents and lets his hands free, Gabriel’s fingers stroke over the tense muscles in Jesse’s shoulders, past the twenty-six new stitches under his right arm, over all the places where he’s still aching from the transport back. Jesse melts into it, lets himself _feel_. For all of his bulk, Gabriel is always gentle, gentle in ways that Jesse isn’t ever quite sure he deserves. His hands are gun-calloused and warm, so _warm_ as they map routes across Jesse’s skin, drawing imaginary paths between his scars and tattoos.  

 

“Lube,” he manages, and waits for Gabriel to find it in the bedside drawer.  

 

Jesse fingers himself open with almost brutal efficiency. It’s a job to get done, like lining up a shot or getting ready to drop from the transport. It’s a job, nothing more, and he’s itching to pull the trigger, to let himself be overwhelmed completely by Gabriel until he loses himself. One finger becomes two, is about to become three, except that’s when Gabriel makes a noise of dissatisfaction under him.

 

“Slow the fuck down,” he says, and against every part of his nature, Jesse pauses. Feels calloused fingers soothing over his thigh, gentle and firm. He shudders, suddenly aware of the sweat on his skin, the slight ache where he’s stretched around his own fingers. “C’mere, let me.”

 

He’s vaguely aware of the snap of the lube container. Of Gabriel’s fingers pressing insistently against his wrist until he gives in and pulls out. Gabriel is encouraging him to move, inching him up his body with the heel of his palm until Jesse’s settled within reach. Jesse breathes raggedly.

 

“You don’t have to do everything yourself,” Gabriel says quietly. He’s tracing circles with his fingertips, almost teasing. Something flips in Jesse’s stomach like vertigo.

 

 _Don’t leave me_ , he thinks.

 

“Think you can do a better job?” he says.

 

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Cocky shit.”

 

Jesse tries to laugh, but it’s bitten off when Gabriel presses the tips of his fingers right up against the place he wants them the most. He presses his hips down, sinks onto Gabriel’s fingers and inhales shakily. Gabriel’s other hand is still soothing across his thigh as he eases his fingers inside Jesse. One first. Then a second. Jesse feels hot and shivery all at once, blurred outside of himself as though he has a fever. Gabriel presses a third finger into him. Jesse blinks, too slowly. There’s sweat on the back of his neck.

 

And then Gabriel is curling his fingers and taking him apart and Jesse stops thinking. The blood is rushing in his ears and he’s drunk on it. He gives himself up to it, to the way Gabriel knows all the places that make him pant and whine.

 

“That’s good,” he babbles, not even sure what he’s saying or why he’s saying it, only that it feels urgent and vital somehow, like he’ll break apart at the seams if he doesn’t, “real good, just there, yeah, _fuck_.”

 

When he looks down, Gabriel is watching him, eyes bright and keen. There’s something soft in his gaze, amusement maybe. Jesse pants, jaw slack, and meets his gaze. His chest suddenly feels too tight and warm, and he screws his eyes closed, tips his head back. Gabriel’s finding every spot inside of him that makes light flare behind his eyelids. Always was good with his fingers.

 

“You wanna come like this?” Gabe asks, voice low and deep, and Jesse is tempted. But it isn’t what he _needs_. He opens his eyes. Shakes his head, just once. Tries to remember himself, remember what this is all meant to be for.

 

“Kinda had other plans,” he says.

 

Gabriel slows the movement of his fingers, then. Slowly pulls out. Jesse breathes deeply. A cool spark of anticipation runs up his spine as he moves Gabriel’s hand away. He finds there’s a condom packet next to him on the bed but doesn’t remember how it got there. Rips it open carefully with his teeth. He stares at Gabriel the whole time as if to say, _I have this, I know what I’m doing, I’m in control_.

 

Time blurs, elastic and incomprehensible. Everything narrows to the language of heartbeats and gasped breath and nails against skin. The next thing he knows he is sinking onto Gabriel’s dick. Feeling the unique satisfaction of being so full, as if Gabriel is filling in all of his cracks. Jesse’s hips twitch involuntarily, chasing the feeling.

 

“That’s it,” Gabriel is saying softly, somewhere beneath him, “there you go.” Jesse shudders at everything it invokes, of every time Gabriel has whispered in his ear to pull a trigger or make a move and he’s done so without hesitation.

 

 _I’d die for you_ , he thinks, apropos of nothing. His blood feels hot in his veins.

 

Every last scrap of good sense leaves him at once. Jesse doesn’t bother starting slowly. He fucks himself on Gabriel’s dick, ignores the burn in his thighs.  He’s had enough of giving. He takes and takes and _takes_. He’s electric and volatile, and Gabriel is the only thing that can ground him.

 

“Fuck,” Jesse says, breathless and dizzy and outside of himself. This has no right to feel this good, but he’s alive and hungry and he can’t stop. “there, right there.”

 

“Yeah?” Gabriel is panting, grabbing Jesse’s thighs so tightly that Jesse’s sure it’s going to leave bruises. The thought makes something jerk right in his belly. “There?”

 

“Yeah,” Jesse grinds down helplessly, chokes as he tries to breathe, “feels so fuckin’ good.”

 

“Fuck,” Gabriel moans, reaches for where Jesse is frantically jerking himself off with his own hand. Tangles his fingers tightly with Jesse’s so that they’re stroking him together. Jesse whines through his teeth, fucks himself between Gabriel’s dick and his hand in quick, fluid rolls of his hips.

 

Gabriel continues to fuck into him, hard and relentless, and it’s so _right_ that Jesse can barely breathe. He grits his teeth and shivers all the way from his scalp to his toes. He feels like he’s drowning, too little air, everything reduced to the sweat on his skin and the solid muscle of Gabriel’s body underneath his. The room is punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says stupidly, “fuck. Gabe.”

 

“I’ve got you,” Gabriel gasps, reaches to tug Jesse closer. Grabs the back of his neck like he’s collaring him. Jesse whines. He’s dizzy, not enough air. “C’mon Jesse.”

 

All at once, Gabriel is everything, filling up his lungs like water, and he’s overwhelmed. There’s a burn in his throat like whiskey going down, and even when he closes his eyes he can see Gabriel’s face and Gabriel’s hands and Gabriel’s chest moving as he breathes. The air seizes in his lungs. He’s frantic with the need to cum. His eyes are wet and he doesn’t know why - only knows that Gabriel is fucking into him so hard that it takes the air from his lungs.

 

“Jesse,” Gabriel keeps saying into his ear, “Jesse. Jesse.” It sounds like a prayer on his lips, like something hungry and beautiful. Jesse moans deep in his throat. He can’t think straight. His thoughts are splitting apart. Gabriel grabs his hips and fucks up into him, makes every part of him feel gorgeously hot and tight.

 

“Just like that,” he says, “yeah, fuck, Gabe.” He’s stuttering on the edge of pleasure, drunk with it. He hears himself pleading with Gabriel to fuck him, he’s so _close_ , don’t stop, please, more-more-more. His world is spinning and inconsequential, and nothing matters except the thought of coming undone all over Gabriel’s stomach, warm, wet lines of cum against his skin.

 

The thought of it is what tips him over. His world narrows to a sharp coil of pleasure and then shatters. Orgasm takes him like a hit of coke to the hindbrain, electric, vivid, too much, too _much_. He moans, screws his eyes closed and tries to ride with it. It fills up his veins, flooding through him and making every part of him light up at once. His ears are ringing. Gabriel is fucking him through it, touching him over and over until it’s too much and he can’t breathe. He’s vaguely aware that Gabriel is gasping his name, that his nails are sharp pinpricks of pain in Jesse’s neck, that he’s shuddering as he cums buried deep inside Jesse’s ass.

 

Jesse shivers, overwhelmed. The room is suddenly still, save for the jack-rabbiting of Gabriel’s pulse under his palm and the ragged sounds of their breathing. He stares down at Gabriel and feels his pieces coming back together.

 

It’s Jesse who moves first. Slowly eases himself out of Gabriel’s arms, winces a little as he pulls off his dick. Next to him, Gabriel is panting shallowly, one arm thrown over his eyes as he comes down. Jesse rolls over, a little unsteady. Fumbles in his bedside drawer until he finds cigarettes and his lighter. When he lights up, the brief spark shines across the sweat cooling on Gabriel’s skin.

 

The first drag feels like heaven.

 

The smoke sits on his tongue for a moment before he exhales, hums in satisfaction. Next to him, Gabriel has recovered his breath, started to clean himself up. When Jesse looks down, he meets his eyes, smiles tiredly. Jesse holds up the cigarette packet as a question, and, when Gabriel makes a noise of agreement, fishes a second from it and lifts it to Gabriel’s lips. He clicks the lighter, watches the shadows play across Gabriel’s nose, under his eyes. Gabriel nods slowly to himself, takes a drag of smoke.

 

When Jesse settles back beside him, there’s a moment when Gabriel just looks at him, hard, as though he’s calculating his next move. Cautiously, he reaches for Jesse to pull him close. Jesse, tired and sated, lays his head on Gabriel’s chest. Smokes to the tune of his heart, beating on and on into the silence.

 

Finally, Gabriel inhales, closes his eyes and rubs at his temples with the hand that isn’t holding his cigarette. “You know how many people we buried?” he says, and then before Jesse can even begin to answer, he’s already cut in, “fourteen. Fourteen fucking people who didn’t deserve that shit. And that whole time, I just… the only goddamn thing I could think about was-” he shakes his head, makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. When he looks up, their eyes meet, and Jesse sees the words more than he hears them, watches them on Gabriel’s tongue as he says, “I can’t bury you too.”

 

Jesse swallows. Grits his teeth.

 

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly, finally voices the fear that’s been strangling him for hours, filling his lungs with smoke in the shape of Gabriel’s corpse.

 

“And you won’t. We’ll get through this,” Gabriel says. The rest of it, the _we have to_ , lies unsaid. He leans down, kisses Jesse. His mouth is soft and cool and tastes like nicotine.

 

They lie like that for some time. The cigarettes eventually burn out. Jesse stubs his out into the ashtray and feels like he’s grinding a part of himself away with it. He lays back against Gabriel’s chest mournfully.

 

“I’m so tired,” he says into the dark. He has nothing left to give.

 

Gabriel says nothing. He’s stroking idly at the base of Jesse’s neck, drawing meaningless shapes into his skin. Jesse sighs.

 

“S’nice,” he says, lets himself drift. His limbs feel liquid and heavy.

 

“I’ve got you,” Gabriel is saying, over and over as though it’s some prayer that will save them.

 

Jesse almost believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find me on twitter as @mitten_crab!](https://twitter.com/mitten_crab/)   
> 


End file.
